


The Chain

by goddamnitkastlewrites



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-03 10:19:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11530197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddamnitkastlewrites/pseuds/goddamnitkastlewrites
Summary: First posted to goddamnitkastle.tumblr.com on June 3, 2017.The original summary is below:"Not much to set up, just that The Chain by Fleetwood Mac has and will always be a fucking great song. I also played with format a bit so I hope it makes sense."





	The Chain

It always started the same and ended the same. It was ritual for Karen at this point, a routine that if it ceased to happen it would terrify her. Somewhere in the middle of the night she dreams of hands around her throat and feels the visceral crushing of her windpipe. She emerges into consciousness, cries like it’s her first day of being alive, gasps for breath, then lies awake until sleep takes her again. 

She’ll think about that night, the night she made the decision to think of herself for once. The decision that would lead to the loss of a friend, lead her to a pawn shop off 10th. The thought of guy with the greasy curly hair and the open button down shirt still gave her the hives but he had what she needed. 

It was easier to deal with this alone. But now with Frank around to crash on her couch on occasion she always felt on display. He was courteous, yes, he never leered or crowded around her, and was surprisingly smooth in navigating her shoebox of an apartment. But as a character witness once said… 

_Unnerving, the way he could look into a person’s soul._

It’s not like she thought his presence would calm her or stop her sleepless nights cold. But apparently even the idea of his presence wasn’t enough to sway them. The taste of her pillow had become permanent on her tongue. 

She was sure he’d wake up the first night he stayed over. That he’d witness this agonizing dance she did and see her for the mess she truly is. But he didn’t. Instead she witnessed something she took partially as a joke when he said it the first time. It turned out to be true: he sings. 

Frank Castle was in fact not lying in that one off moment in her car. It was the honest to God truth, another unusually fascinating nugget that fell into Karen’s lap. Making coffee, cleaning guns, he had a tune on his lips. It wasn’t grand Broadway singing, no, it was more like a drunk at Josie’s when it was karaoke night mashed with Bob Dylan kind of singing, all mumbles and no projection. The words were mostly wrong and he would reverse verses. The singing was more prominent in his sleep. 

_**You’re a smiling star** _  
_**No matter where are** _  
_**Smiling bright to see** _  
_**What you can surely be** _

It would become a lullaby for Karen when she would wake. The gravel incoherence brought her back to the world and far away from imminent threats. Any given song wouldn’t stay for more than a week. This week’s song was  _The Chain_  by Fleetwood Mac. 

She didn’t say anything about this rather amusing discovery as he hasn’t said anything to her about her violent tossing and turning. She leaned against her doorframe and watched him one morning as he made coffee.

 ****_**Running in the shadows**_  
_**Damn the dark**_  
_**Damn the light**_

_**Break the silence** _  
_**Damn your love** _  
_**Damn your lies** _

_**And if you won’t love me now** _  
_**Don’t think you’ll love me again** _  
_**I will still hear you say** _  
_**Never break the chain** _

He sensed her and turned around. He cleared his throat and poured himself a cup. 

“Hey Frank." 

"Ma'am. I didn’t wake you did…" 

"No, no I was up. Did you sleep okay?" 

"Fine, ma'am." 

"I can’t imagine my couch is that comfortable…" 

"Don’t worry about it. You, uh, left the chain off your door again." 

"The door locks Frank. And I can take care of myself." 

He opened his mouth but then closed it. She held his stare, she knew he wanted to lecture her. And she know what he’d say. 

 _Try to remember next time_  
_Use two hands and never let go_  
_Go back to the car_

But he said nothing.

"I also have my .380.” she tacked on after the prolonged silence.

She didn’t wait to hear his response, which ended up being a nonverbal grunt. She could make a game out of it, see how far she can let go until he saw it. But the death grip was infallible, the lid sealed tight. 

Or so she thought. It was a particularly bad day, she cried at the sight of her bed when she finally got home. Still unmade from this morning, she collapsed and it all came rushing out. The frustrations of her job, the utter loneliness of her existence, and the fact that her only non work human contact was a goddamn ghost. She kicked her heels off and grabbed a pillow, her tears staining it. 

 _You’re not meant to love or be loved_  
_Ben is dead because of you_  
_Foggy doesn’t call anymore cause he has a newer, better life_  
_How could you have been such an idiot? Of course Matt was Daredevil_  
_You couldn’t save Matt from himself_  
_You couldn’t help Frank_

Her eyes snap open to the creaks of her floorboards. There he was in all his Punisher glory, no song to sing. Neither of them moved for what felt like eternity. She searched his face for anything that remotely resembled an emotional reaction. Pity, sympathy, embarrassment, fuck she’d accept apathy at this point. But all he did was stare and she reciprocated. She didn’t have the strength to hide from him. 

“Don’t forget the chain." 

He stepped out of her doorframe and she heard him open the window to the fire escape. Why she expected more out of him she didn’t understand, she shouldn’t have. He has nothing to offer her. His heart was stomped out of him by monsters, animals, bastards. She thought remnants could still be found but then the unavoidable truth hits her: the new additions to her nightmare. 

As hands clutch her throat she is in the woods now. The next night as she loses her breath there’s a door slam. The night after that a gunshot comes after the door. Tonight it evolved once more, and this was particularly cruel twist. 

_**And I can still hear you saying…** _  
_**And I can still hear you saying…** _  
_**And I can still hear you saying…** _  
_**And I can still hear you saying…** _

_I’m already dead._

Karen wakes in the dead of night. She heads to the window, locks it. Goes to the door, puts the chain up and checks the locks. She needs to sleep and no song in the world could help her at this point.


End file.
